


Cake, Sympathy, Heart Cartography

by factorielle, Yukitsu



Series: Brand New Endings [1]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Food, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-11
Updated: 2010-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/factorielle/pseuds/factorielle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukitsu/pseuds/Yukitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's summer, it's hot, and Izumi just wants to be left alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake, Sympathy, Heart Cartography

**Author's Note:**

> Written back in 2008 for the [Pitch a Rainbow](http://oofuri.fatal-fabrication.net/) anthology.

The heat and humidity of early summer always made Izumi irritable.

Most people wouldn't have been able to tell. He showed little of it, didn't start snapping at people or hitting things in frustration. But he did tune out the Tajima-Mihashi comedy duo a lot quicker than usual, and even minor setbacks found him grinding his teeth in annoyance rather than shrugging them off.

The only real benefit he got out of the weather was that his mother tended to wake up earlier than usual, which in turn meant that he got better food to take to school. Not to mention that summer was a birthday-heavy period in the extended Izumi family: between grandparents, cousins and family friends, he got to eat leftover cake for dessert almost every day for six weeks.

All of this combined into an intense desire to not be around his (noisy, irritating, voracious) classmates when lunch time rolled around. Good food was only good if he could actually eat it himself, and there was no chance of him being able to eat in peace with people like Tajima and Hamada around. Even Mihashi tended to stalk him when he brought cake to school. And really, looking at the crowd in his classroom plus his teammates running around everywhere just made him feel hotter, despite his best efforts to move as little as possible and stay where the breeze was supposed to enter the room.

That left no better option than a strategic retreat to the school roof, which people always assumed was a) off limits and b) too exposed to the sun. Both were good points, except no one ever checked for trespassing students and there was actual wind up here. He could feel it now, blowing against his back; cool and soothing, almost as much as the lack of talk about pitches and penises anywhere in the vicinity. The usual lunch break noises were wafting up from below, but that was easy to tune out. He was armed with a lunch box that was heavier than usual, and if he ate fast enough, he might have time to take a nap before his next class. All that heat wasn't looking so bad anymore.

He brought his lunch box out of his bag and made a tally of its contents; rice off to one corner, some octopus-shaped wieners, egg rolls, and potato salad. A good haul. His mother had realized in the latter half of his first year that he tended to eat his lunch before the morning was over, and started packing him more things to eat. These days, he sometimes wondered if perhaps she packed him way too much food. Still…

"Looks good," he said quietly to himself, more out of habit than an actual need to activate some hormone or another, and started eating. The potato salad had, he was pleasantly surprised to find, somehow managed to remain cool despite the weather.

Izumi was nearly halfway through with lunch when the door to the roof swung open, and then there was humming as the intruder ambled out. He stopped himself from groaning out loud. Even if he was its only habitual occupant, the roof wasn't his private territory. If another student had discovered that it was a good place to take a break for a little while...

If so, he decided, popping a wiener in his mouth without looking up, they could both ignore each other's presence and get their quiet time.

"Izumi? What are you doing here?"

Then again, that theory only worked on the hypothesis that the intruder wanted the same thing he did. "Peace and quiet," he answered succinctly, squinting against the harsh sunlight to look at the newcomer, who'd left his bags and sweater (much needed in the early hours of the morning) in class, but had a plastic-wrapped _something_ dangling from his hand. "You?"

"I, er. Felt like getting some fresh air," Mizutani said, finally moving to a spot where Izumi could actually look at him, and smirk. The hunted look on his teammate's face was painfully familiar: anyone in class 2-9 would have been able to recognize it, from having seen it so often on Mihashi's face.

"Abe's on the warpath again?" Izumi guessed, more amused than he should have been.

Mizutani looked shocked for a second, then he deflated and plopped down against the fence, having obviously assumed that Izumi talking back counted as an invitation. "Last week he raved at me for ten minutes for eating curry bread instead of a 'proper lunch'," he said, his voice shaking with indignation. "What is he, my mother?"

Defiant words from the guy hiding on the roof with his... yep, his curry bread, straight from the cafeteria. "I see your point," Izumi said dryly before crunching on a radish. "Is that what you told him, then?"

"No," was the sulky answer, "That's what I told Hanai when he agreed with Abe. I did call him dad, though."

Izumi was of the personal opinion that Mizutani had gotten his titles mixed up, but didn't say it out loud. "Maybe you should have told him to mind his own business."

The look he got in return told him what the left fielder thought of _that_ suggestion.

"Or," he relented, "You could hide here and eat your curry bread in peace." Mizutani gave him another look. "I promise not to judge you." And, he realized a few seconds too late, there went his quiet time.

Oddly, he didn't mind too much. Mizutani was entertaining company; but when he got too entertaining, shutting him up was easy enough.

"It's so unfair," he was grumbling, tearing at the plastic wrapped around what had to be called his lunch. "What did I ever do to him?"

"With Abe, I don't think what you do matters so much as what he _thinks_ you do." No, that wasn't fair to Abe, either. "Or, well, if you remember a certain pop fly during our first game with Mihoshi..."

The other boy winced. "That was a long time ago!" he protested, "And it was an accident. Could've happened to anybody."

Like maybe Mihashi, Izumi didn't say, but he shrugged and popped another wiener in his mouth. "Abe takes his games seriously."

"Really seriously," Mizutani agreed. "Does he want to be a pro or something?"

"You're his classmate, you tell me."

"I dunno." The tone was suddenly so flat that Izumi had to look, and found the other boy staring forlornly at the bread. It did look a little stale, and generally unappealing enough to make Izumi feel almost guilty for having a real lunch all to himself. "I think he'd make a better coach. That way he could keep hounding people forever."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure he likes to focus on one person at a time. And since he's trying to lay off Mihashi a little, it looks like that's you." He'd said it mostly for the reaction, and wasn't disappointed: his teammate's face had turned into a mask of doom and despair at the idea of being the object of Abe's undivided attention.

Izumi laughed out loud - which, he realized when he received an outraged look, might have been a little mean. "Here," he said, still snickering as he pushed his lunch between them. "Have some proper food. You'll need it."

Like any simple-minded member of their team, Mizutani brightened up immediately upon being offered food. "Oh, hey, thanks!" he crowed, then paused as if to think. "You can have some curry bread, too."

"Uhm, nah." A quick stare was more than enough to make the decision. "I'll pass."

"Kay," Mizutani replied, not at all bothered and too busy trying to choose which wiener looked most delicious. "Your lunch looks so good! Rice and salad and egg rolls and wieners? Lucky!"

"Yeah, yeah." The proprietary look Mizutani was giving his lunch was one Izumi had learned to be wary of, but at least he didn't look so unhappy anymore. "Don't grab it with your fingers. You can have one," he added, handing out one of his chopsticks.

The pros of abandoning his classroom were dwindling by the minute, but it was okay. The wind was still pleasantly cool, Tajima's hyperactive nonsense still far away (as well as Abe's control issues), and Mizutani at least knew to show some gratitude for what he was offered. But not too much, unlike Mihashi who got so grateful for the smallest things that he became borderline insulting at times.

Still, the complacency Izumi was displaying was a surprise even to himself. Especially when the last eggroll was snatched away from him, and he silently redirected his single chopstick to impale a wiener instead of fighting for it.

He didn't really mind sharing – this wasn't Tajima or Hamada, who'd fight _him_ for his food if they liked it enough. It wasn't like he was particularly hungry, either, considering the oven of a classroom he just came from. Sucked the life out of him, that one.

"Ish good," his teammate said in between bites, looking so content with the world that Izumi was tempted to tell him Abe was watching them from the other building, just to see how he'd react again.

"You should get some of the rice," he suggested. "My mom will kill me if I leave anything." And he wasn't eating that without anything else.

"'Ow?" was the good question. With one stick each....

"Well, you can eat first. I'll lend you mine." Mizutani looked at him curiously. "What?"

"You're being nice," Mizutani said, grabbing the chopstick from his teammate's loose grip.

Izumi resisted the childish urge to tug it back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mizutani waved the chopsticks around, sending grains of rice flying to the other side. "Nothing!" The speed and earnestness with which he dove back into the lunch box were more than a little suspicious, but Izumi let it slide and lay down, crossing his arms under his head for what little could be salvaged of his long awaited nap.

And found he couldn't turn his brain off. He was being uncharacteristically nice, but it didn't feel forced at all - not like with Mihashi, with whom extreme precautions had to be taken if you didn't want him to burst out in tears, and--

How long, exactly, had he been comparing Mizutani favorably to their other teammates at every opportunity?

Izumi glanced at his teammate with an eyebrow raised -- Mizutani, thinking that the look was directed at him, appropriately toned down his enthusiastic eating with a sheepish grin.

It was sort of nice to have someone normal around, Izumi thought involuntarily at that. That had to be it -- the teammates he had in his class were all one kind of extreme or another, and even if he was fine with it most of the time, dealing with a hyperactive Tajima and an overly sensitive Mihashi did get taxing. It wasn't like Hamada was of any help in that department, either. With Mizutani (and most normal people, which did not include the other members of his team), he only had to give a look to make a point. Mizutani actually had the social skills found in most kids their age.

Though that brought into question his own desperation for normal company, if he was being nice to the first one to offer him the opportunity. No, that wasn't right. It had to be something else, then -- and he was doing it again, this comparing Mizutani favorably against others thing.

"Why are you staring at me?!" the boy was asking, giving the impression that he was about to snap and bolt if Izumi continued this business of frowning at him. He really was too quick to show his feelings. Not a good thing on the field, maybe, but in general it was kind of--

Oh, _hell_ no.

"I'm deciding how sorry I feel for you," Izumi covered quickly. "For being Abe's target." That was it. That was exactly it. Pity. Yes.

"Why?" Mizutani asked with a pout.

The word Izumi had managed to repel the first time around came back with a vengeance. Still, he sounded cool when he answered; he'd never been prone to hyperventilating before, now wasn't the time to start. "Because," he said, digging in his bag for the last box, "there's cake, too." It was just to check, he told himself. Peace of mind was worth sacrificing a little sugar and cream.

"Cake?!" He could have sworn there was a squee under that, and the sparkles that exploded from Mizutani came close to blinding. It was really, really--- he didn't want to go there. Still, Izumi couldn't help but wave the box around just for the sake of watching Mizutani follow it excitedly with his eyes, much like a puppy. He knew the guy liked cake, but not that much.

Vaguely, he told himself that this damnable season finally had another thing nice going for it, then booted the thought out of his head. Even so, it was too late to ignore the result of the experiment (or even to keep the damn cake, since the idea of resisting a pleading look at this stage was laughable). Izumi wasn't stupid: he knew how to put two and two together.

This time, they added up to a big dumb seven.

"Just take it," he muttered, handing the box over -- and he didn't pay attention to how close their fingers came to touching, not at all.

"You don't want any?" Mizutani asked, dumbfounded. It might have been heatstroke, but Izumi could have sworn he could see a tail wagging in barely contained excitement.

"I'm not hungry anymore," he said with a shrug. That was true enough.

"Really?" There was this expression somewhere between disbelief and concern written all over the left fielder's face. Izumi gave an internal eye roll and closed his eyes under the pretense of resuming the nap that wasn't coming.

"You can have the rest of lunch, too."

"Thanks!" He could hear the beam in Mizutani's voice, but more importantly, there was this sound, a sort of satisfied, ecstatic sigh that sounded almost obscene and ten different kinds of--

Of cute.

Goddamnit.

"There's a fork in the box," he pointed out after a very short look, when it became apparent that Mizutani was planning on stabbing the cake with the chopsticks out of excitement.

The chirp of acknowledgement turned into the sound of happy cake-eating and eventually faded into silence; Izumi kept his eyes closed through it all and managed to think about nothing much for a while, which he suspected was as close as he'd get to actual rest today.

When something brushed against his shirt, the combined experiences of seventeen years of being cool and collected and twelve months of having teammates spring random tickle attacks on him was barely enough to keep him from squealing.

"_What_ are you doing?" he demanded, acutely aware that his voice was pitched much higher than it should have been.

"Just cleaning up!" Mizutani answered defensively. "The bell's going to ring soon."

"... Ah." Izumi contemplated helping, but thought better of it because not only had Mizutani eaten most of the food and should rightfully clean up, but moving meant possibly bumping into the other boy somehow and he certainly didn't want that.

He moved anyway, and only didn't brush his elbow against Mizutani's arm through sheer force of will. He yawned and rubbed his face, before turning to see what else his teammate was up to. The fork was apparently not cooperating by refusing to fit back into the box.

"Izumi, how do you put this back in?" he asked, sticking a finger in his mouth to lick icing his finger picked up while struggling with the fork.

"... Let me do it. And don't lick the lid. That's gross."

"I wasn't going to!" was the hasty reply. Right.

"If you really like cake that much--" And it seemed that he did, if he was salvaging leftover icing from a box, "... I can always share mine with you when my mom packs me some."

"REALLY?" Mizutani turned to beam at him full strength, which made Izumi wince slightly.

"No need to yell," he chided. "I get enough of it at home, so it's fine." Fine and rather pathetic, but he'd have time to dwell on that after he was back in his sweltering classroom with his noisy, uncute classmates.

Right now, before he even got there, there was a choice to make. He'd noticed something, and it was up to him to point it out before they left the roof, or wait to see what happened next.

On the one hand, not mentioning that Mizutani had gunk on his cheek saved him from having to watch him wipe it off and then lick it off his fingers. On the other hand, knowing Mizutani, he had probably become the guy's new confidante… if Abe decided to maim him for being unclean, Izumi would be the first to know. Not to mention that everyone would find out that he had given Mizutani cake. Or that he had cake in the first place.

Of course, there was the option of wiping it off himself, but---

"What did I do now? Why are you staring at me again?" If Mizutani was just a little wimpier, he'd be flailing by now. He really did need to work on that expression thing a little, for Izumi's sake. Otherwise, the next few weeks would be unbearable.

In the meantime, though, Izumi had no valid reason to punish him for something he couldn't really help. "You ate like a pig, that's all." The last word was covered by the loud ringing of the bell calling them back to their respective classrooms, but Izumi still took the time to watch with a certain amusement as Mizutani fretfully patted himself all over - probably looking for a stray octopus.

"There's cake on your face," he said after a few moments; he touched his own cheek in demonstration, but turned away as soon as the message got through. It had been a good move -- there was a small, surprised 'Oh!' and then that sound Mizutani made when enjoying his treats.

"C'mon. Being late is one of the things that Abe frowns on, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, okey!" There was a light, playful punch on his shoulder as he stuffed the food boxes in his bag, and then Mizutani was holding the door open for him. "Thanks for lunch! The cake was yummy. The wieners, too, but the cake was really good!"

Izumi gave him a small, ambivalent smile for an answer. It was definitely good cake that he'd sacrificed there, not too heavy and just sweet enough.

As for what he'd got in exchange, well; only time would tell.


End file.
